Quirks & Kinks (9 page)

Amusement lit the chocolate brown of her eyes as she asked, “Table for one?”

Coughing through my discomfort, I couldn’t help but blush a little. “Uh, actually, I’m looking for someone.”

She raised a mocking brow. I tried my best to ignore it.

“I’m not really sure about his schedule, but is, um, Anderson working by any chance?”

Her attitude changed from teasing to knowing.

“I see.”

But she didn’t see. She
really
didn’t.

I floundered a little trying to convey just how much she didn’t know.

“No, no, no . . . I mean, no.”

“Right.”

“No, I’m looking for him about work.”

“Waitressing? Because he’s not in charge of hiring—”

“No, no. Not waitressing. Um, acting. An acting opportunity.”

“What’s your name? I can tell him you were here,” she offered, pulling a pen from her apron.

Fuuuuck. This had to be one of the most awkward experiences of my life.

“No. I mean, thanks. But I really need to speak to him now. Like, soon. The job is kind of time sensitive.”

“Sure it is. A time sensitive, life or death acting job. I hear about those all the time.”

Were those new bruises forming on my arms? Christ, this girl was beating the hell out of me.

Truth was, we probably would have been great friends under other circumstances. Ones where I had the luxury of time, and I didn’t want to stab her in the eye.

“Do you know where he is or not?” I asked, done jumping through hoops.

“Manhattan Beach. Twenty-sixth street. Surfing.”

Glancing down and pulling my watch from underneath the edge of my long sleeve, I cringed. Four o’clock on a weekday. “Manhattan Beach? It’s gonna take me twenty years to get there.”

She smirked and clicked the pen in her hand gleefully. “Yep.”

Fuuuuck.

“Thanks.” I guess.

“Yep,” she said again with a gleam in her eye.

Backtracking swiftly, I shoved open the door and dug around in my bag for a cigarette on the way to my car. Clenching it and my lighter in one hand, I used the other to shove the key into the hole in the door and turn, yank the handle, and throw myself down into the seat.

My left hand turned circles, the crank of the window giving me my only exercise for the day, and my right fired the ignition. Foot on the brake, I lit my cigarette and placed it between my lips before shifting into reverse and backing out of my spot.

Just as I was flooring it out of the parking lot a thought occurred to me.

People have the ability to tell you things that aren’t factual.

That fucking bitch better not have lied to me about his whereabouts. If she had, and I spent years of my precious life driving down to Manhattan Beach for nothing, I’d be coming up with the slowest, most painful way to murder her.

I mean,
probably not.

I didn’t think I’d do good in prison. But I’d imagine it a whole hell of a lot. It’d be like the film reel for
The Purge
up in this bitch.

Two hours and several road rage incidents on the 405 later, I finally arrived at the end of Twenty-Sixth Street in Manhattan Beach.

After I’d calmed down and driven for an hour, I realized that even if Miss Brunette Leggy Boobs-a-lot hadn’t lied to me, there was still a distinct possibility that he would already be gone. I mean, how long did people stay and surf? I had absolutely no breadth of knowledge on the length of a session in this sport. Or any sport, for that matter.

Still, I knew that my reason for coming here was important, so I went through the motions, driving the rest of the way, climbing out of my car, and walking down onto the soft creamy sand to scan the water for someone I’d only met once.

Once.

One single encounter in a dark Mexican restaurant.

And yet, I spotted him in an instant.

Carrying his surfboard with his wetsuit half off and hanging from his naked hips, he took several sure steps away from the water, eyes focused intently on the sand.

The line of his jaw was strong and smooth, lending itself perfectly to the lingering salt and water that clung there, and the sight of him topless was enough to break all of my focus. I couldn’t tell you what the lines of his chest looked like, or how many hairs lived there. All I could tell you was that everything he was, everything he had, was enough to make my heart speed up and my brain function slow.

Slightly desperate and several hours into my journey at this point, I didn’t hold back or think for even a second. Instead, I let my baser instincts take over and screamed like a madwoman.

“Anderson!”

Highly attuned to the the sound of his name, Anderson’s wet hair swished up and over the top of his head, and his eyes met mine as his head jerked up.

My insecurities built as he studied me for several seconds, the fear that he didn’t recognize or remember me taking hold for the first time all day.

I’d just
assumed
he would.

Wow. Note to self: Lower expectations to the bottom of the barrel.

That way, when someone pokes a hole in the bottom and drains the water out from under you, you won’t have far to fall. And you’ll have a supply of water until the very end.

All of this is assuming you’re a fish, of course. Prolonged water submersion is presumably bad for humans.

So, basically, my philosophical wisdom is a little sketchy on this one. Do your own research.

Finally, his feet moved with his eyes, in the direction of me, and he broke his torturous vow of silence.

“Easie?”

“Oh, cool,” I murmured aloud by accident. “You do remember me.”

His toes stopped two feet shy of mine and one corner of his mouth rose into the meat of his cheek. “Of course I remember you. Surprised to see you though. I guess that whole
I’ll never run into you randomly
thing isn’t holding much water.”

Oops. He didn’t realize I was stalking him.

Yikes. Things were about to get awkward.

“Yeah, about that. This isn’t randomly. I came here looking for you.”

“You came here looking for me?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I just said.”

“Why in the hell were you looking for me?”

Before I could answer, another question formed in his head and spewed out. “How are you looking for me here? I mean,
how
did you know to look for me
here?
”

Suddenly, I was regretting not getting Miss Brunette Leggy Boobs-a-lot’s real name. It probably would have been helpful in the next two minutes of my life.

I decided on being vaguely evasive.

“I went to the restaurant.”

“El Loco?”

My look clearly said
really?

“Jesus. Sorry. You’re throwing me off being here. I feel like I can barely speak English.”

“Qué?”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

“Easie.”

“Sorry.” I shrugged. “It was fun while you allowed it though.”

“So . . . how did you find me?”

Ah, shit.

“A girl . . . woman . . . whatever . . . at the restaurant.”

“Tammy?”

“Brown hair. Long legs.”

He nodded in understanding, confirming, “Tammy.” Apparently, he’d noticed Tammy’s legs.

Great. Now that we’d officially confirmed the completely inconsequential girl’s name, we could move on.

Oh yuck.

What a gross taste in my mouth. Tangy. Green. A little earthy, like lettuce.

Hmm. I guess jealousy is considered roughage.

“Easie?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you want?” he asked, reminding me of the entire hodgepodge of drama that had brought me here.

Man, today was a long fucking day. Filming, firing, physical abuse, verbal berating from Larry as he caved to the pressure of finding a new lead, getting shanghaied by Ashley, verbal volleyball with Tammy, driving millions of miles to Manhattan Beach, and finally, now, putting my emotional boundaries through the paces by talking to the one guy to make any kind of lasting impression on me in the last four plus years.

Yeah. Long day.

“Oh, I’m here about a part.”

“A part?”

“My, my, we’re big on repeating things today.”

Ignoring my smart aleck remark, he moved on. “For me?”

“Yeah. On a show I just started.”

“Quirks and Kinks?”

Agog, my head lurched forward and my neck stretched out like an ostrich. A really fucking surprised ostrich. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, nonplussed. “I caught the first episode.”

“Only one episode has aired.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “So I caught the only episode.”

“So you saw—” I started, thinking about the ridiculous getup I’d donned for most of the show.

“Sure did,” he confirmed with a cute wag of his brows and rock up onto the balls of his feet.

“Greeaattt.”

“Stop. You were great.”

I scoffed.

“No, seriously. It takes serious talent to depict something so far out of your comfort zone.”

My head tilted to one side in question. “How do you know clown-sex is outside of my comfort zone?”

I said it as joke thinking that clown-sex was outside of most people’s comfort zones, but he took it seriously, never taking his eyes off of mine as he spoke. “By the way you reacted when I told you I saw it.”

Breaking the intensity of his eye contact, I rummaged in my bag and pulled out the one thing guaranteed to make him like me less.

His eyes flared as I lit it up, but he didn’t say anything.

When neither of us had broken the silence for a full minute, I took the initiative to bring things back on point.

“So . . . the show?”

He looked from my cigarette to me and back again, and then huffed out one big breath. “I’ll take a meeting.”

“You’ll do it?” I asked, trying to speed up his decision process. Or just trick him into agreeing. One way or the other.

“No,” he chuckled. “That’s not what I said. I’ll come talk to the producer, and you, if you want, and if I like what everyone has to say, then I’ll do it.”

“Fine,” I conceded. “That’s better than nothing.”

“When?”

I knew Larry would want me to say right now, this minute, there’s no time to spare, blah, blah, blah. But I was tired. I didn’t have it in me. So I answered the way I wanted to.

“First thing tomorrow morning.”

Okay, if I had
really
conceded to my wants, I probably would have said never. But this was the best I was going to get.

Staring contests had nothing on us as we sat there, soaking in our awkwardness for all of Manhattan Beach’s onlookers to see. The urge to leave battled with the pull to stay, but in the end only an uncomfortable handshake won.

“So, um, I’ll text you directions and stuff,” I babbled, turning quickly and stumbling in the sand as I tried to make a quick getaway.

Change is always hard, but if the transition from skilled speaker to mumbling idiot was a permanent one, I was going to have to commit myself. It had only been a few days of living like this, and I was already beyond sick of it.

“What’s your number?” he called after me. “I’ll text you mine.”

Right. A number. That’d be helpful.

As I walked back toward him to avoid yelling my number across the beach, I moaned. Giving into my desire to be close to him felt too satisfying, and I didn’t like not being in control of it. Something about him sucked me in. I hadn’t figured out which part it was, but I was pretty sure he was hiding magnets in those bumps he was pretending were abs. When I launched my formal investigation, I planned to start there.

“Sorry,” I mumbled when I got back within range. “I forgot.”

He smiled and shrugged, but neither one of us said anything.

Of course, I was the one who was
supposed
to be saying something.

“And?” he prompted when I didn’t snap out of it fast enough.

Fuck. Stop thinking about abs, Easie. Like, for real.

“It’s 213–418–8487.”

“Eight, four, eight, seven?” he asked, reciting the last four digits to confirm.

“Yep.”

“Was it by any chance a guy who assigned your number to you when you got it?”

“Assigned my number?”

“Yeah. When you first got the phone, did a guy help you?”

Thinking back more than five years into the past was seriously not my strong suit. “Um, yeah. I mean, I think. It was a while ago. Why?”

“Because the last four digits of your number spell tits.”

Flicking my cigarette to the sand below, I stepped back again, turning to leave and refusing to look back. Knowing his mind had picked something like that up on the fly had too many conflicting thoughts fighting for supremacy in my brain, and the chaos that ensued had it threatening to explode. The only logical thing to do was ignore him.

He chuckled behind me, calling out, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and at the sound of his voice, my resolve to avoid looking back crumbled.

Leaning casually into his board stuck standing in the sand, a smirk lit his face and my discarded butt graced his hand. Twirling it mindlessly, he watched as I walked away.

By the time I climbed into my Honda and slumped into the seat with fatigue, the screen of my phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.